What the fuck is wrong with you Reddit?!

RSVPS

” Ivan Sonofabitch (09/30, 12:51PM)

: “Seriously though, written erotica really doesn’t do it for me. I’m more of a visual kind of guy.”

An interesting comment, well sort of, but indicative of the fact that you have not made a fundamental distinction about written erotica. What is that distinction? It is the distinction between reading written erotica and actually writing written erotica. The two pursuits are quite distinct.

In the case of reading written erotica the object is that of consumption where, in interaction with the words and the images they invoke, one becomes sexually aroused. Ultimately it is a solitary, passive and “inner-directed” activity where the reader engages with his “own” images. I place the word “own” in quotation marks since the images are not so much those of the reader but rather those of the producer of those images, the writer of written erotica.

The object of the writer of written erotica is therefore not the passive consumption of the words and images in order to become sexually aroused but rather it is the active, engaged production of those words and images in the mind of his reader. Note the possessive form, for in the production of written erotica – assuming that the erotica is of sufficient quality – the reader becomes the possession of the writer. By means of the skilful construction of the erotic engagement, the writer has shaped the mind of the reader. The reader has become the writer’s creature.

So viewed, writing written erotica comes to occupy a higher ontological plane than that of its merely read counterpart. Rather than being simply a means to a further end, that of sexual arousal and consequent orgasm, writing written erotica is an end in itself. It is an art. While it is true that the writer of written erotica takes possession of the emotional life of the reader, it is also true that the product of written erotica must satisfy the internal criteria of its kind – plot structure, narrative line, characterization of the players and so on – by virtue of which it succeeds in winning the laurel crown. Finally, in a reflexive movement, the writer of written erotica displays not only his artistic skills but, in engaging with the depths of the human condition generally, he also reveals the penetrative qualities of his own mind. Writing written erotica, in other words, is a complete artistic and philosophical experience.

Are you sure you don’t want to give it a go?

: Mister Meaty (1:00PM)

“I find labia including any other part of female genitalia disgusting.”

Excluding for the moment the possibility of a hysterical misogyny, I find your reaction to be one based upon a strictly anatomical rather than a contemplative basis. In the case of the former, the anatomical activities of the labia might be so viewed but I think this is to adopt a narrow, functionalist approach which, as with functionalism generally, strips the object of its aesthetic qualities. From my perspective, however, the labia are rather objects of artistic appreciation. While they certainly symbolize the procreative power of the female they also have their own particular charm – an inviting, nurturing presence so characteristic of the female at her best. Such aesthetic contemplation need not give rise to the desire for physical intercourse although a little playful engagement – giving them a little wiggle for instance – need not be ruled out.

Perhaps you would like to explore the nature of your disgust with labia “and any other part of female genitalia”
(what could they possibly be?) more deeply. You must understand that you will have my full support.

: Paingirl (4:45PM)

What you say may – or may not – be true but it turns on what is to be understood by “pretty” which, in turn, presupposes some coherent conception of aesthetics, a notoriously difficult branch of philosophy since, at least for many, it lacks a rationally defensible foundation.

However, you still might want to give it a try.

A pleasure as always.

Cheerio!

RSVP

: Ivan Sonofabitch (10/02, 6:28AM)

Yes, Nazi erotica, a rich context allowing of many possibilities. However, I found your treatment a bit, um, technical. All that bother about tanks might do it for you but you must remember that it’s not erotic for most. But Nazi erotica, absolutely.

I would have placed the scene in a concentration camp. The Commandant, a blond buxom Nazi amazon with an eye for the men, is reviewing a line-up of the inmates all of whom are suffering varying degrees of starvation. They realize that if they have any hope of survival they must attempt to engage her labia. But how?

One of the inmates takes a chance. As the Commandant is inspecting the line-up, he managed a low whistle. She turned and looked at him. He smiled. She came closer, reached out, and cradled his balls. He became aroused, as much that is, as his weakened state permitted. She whispered in his ear, “I”m going to dismiss the others, but I want you to stay right here.” She did, and he did.

Slowly she tugged his pants down revealing his semi-tumescent member. Then she removed her pants and panties. Her labia were clearly in a state of excitation. They were magnificent. She took him by the hand and led him back to her room, just off the main hall. “Kneel!” she demanded. He did. Holding the back of his head, she pressed his face into her engorged labia. At first he thought he would suffocate but, realizing what was at stake, managed to bring his tongue into play. His member began to assume its fully upright position.

Slowly he moved his tongue in a clockwise motion. He could feel her clitoris harden. She began to groan. Sensing her urgency, he moved his hands around to each of her buttocks which he then proceeded to separate. She groaned again, and began to undulate her pelvis back and forth, back and forth. Imitating her rocking movement, he slowly slid his tongue into her vagina which, by this time had become well lubricated. She then led him over to the bed…

To be continued.

A pleasure as always.

Cheerio!

THE LABIA WARS (II): ILSA’S STORY

The Commandant then led the inmate over to the bed. Her labia had become engorged as a result of the inmate’s incredibly skilful use of his tongue but she knew that sustenance was required if he were to continue to carry his task to completion. To that end she shared a small snack – wieners and beer – which she had previously prepared and which lay on her bedside table. Two chairs stood at either end. They sat down and chatted.

Ilsa Koch, for that was her name, was still wearing her jackboots but that was all. Her boots were the psychological symbol of her authority – she kept them immaculately clean and rarely removed them – for she had risen rapidly in the ranks of the SS so that she now enjoyed absolute control of her own prison camp, located in Nazi-held Ukraine. Her power over the inmates was complete. In her hands she held the power of life and death. On one notable occasion an inmate had incurred her wrath. They were in the assembly hall waiting her arrival. The inmate which was to be the Ilsa’s target knew what to expect and it wasn’t going to be pretty. There could be only one escape. As it happened there was no plumbing in the camp but the inmates, most of whom were suffering from dysentery, relieved themselves in “The Tank,” a large concrete container located in the center of the hall. Because of their affliction the contents of The Tank were in liquified form which was usually filled it to the brim as few of them wanted the job of emptying it. The targeted inmate climbed up on the rim of The Tank, blessed himself being Catholic, and dove in. Minutes passed. At just that time Ilsa arrived and looked about for the missing inmate. She noticed air bubbles rising to the surface and then she knew. The inmate had drowned himself effectively in his own shit. Smiling wolfishly, she turned to the assembled group and shouted, “Take a good look! You cross Ilsa and it’s The Tank for you!”

But while Ilsa was a terror she also had an inordinate regard for her labia. Admittedly, they were large but they were also delightfully sensitive to the male tongue when skilfully applied. She was mad about her labia and the sensations they produced. She fastidiously kept them clean, waxed and in good working order. They were the objects of her dreams, of her fantasy life. Together with her boots, they were her most prized possession. Indeed, it was common knowledge that Ilsa regarded the inmates of the camp as little more than a collection of male tongues serving to satisfy her incessant and tumultuous craving.

Ilsa, her labia still engorged, sat in her chair and, over the beer and wieners which she habitually prepared for occasions such as this, listened raptly to the inmate’s own story. She found it fascinating…

To be continued.

A pleasure as always.

Cheerio!

REFLECTIONS ON WRITING EROTICA

RSVPS

: Mister Meaty (10/04, 2:59PM) “Try writing gay erotica instead guys…”

: Ivan Sonofabitch (4:07PM) “Write What You Know”

Before getting to my main point, my abrupt stoppage after my “The Labia Wars (II)”, Mister Meaty raised an interesting point which was answered, in a nutshell, by Ivan Sonofabitch. I pondered if it would be even possible for me to write “gay erotica” at all since, being completely heterosexual, it would require a complete change of psychological perspective. The theoretical question then arises as to just what would constitute gay erotica. In other words, what turns gays on to each other? It’s an interesting question to contemplate. Is it the same thing that generally turns female heterosexuals on to males? It’s got to be more than the usual tropes of fame, money and power but what? Males are not usually physically attractive in the obvious sense that females are so the short answer is, “I don’t know.” So Ivan’s comment hit the nail on the head.

The reason I stopped after “The Labia Wars II” was simple. By adding “To be continued” at the end of each episode I was dragging the issue out. I was making erotica, something that should be something done “in the moment,” a boring serial and one thing which is deadly to erotica is boredom. More than that, I was becoming self-conscious, conscious of the fact that I was writing “erotica” and self-consciousness for the writer of written erotica is as deadly as boredom is for the reader. It wasn’t as though I hadn’t thought of “The Labia Wars (III). On the contrary. To counter Ilsa’s Nazi powerful labia I was going to send in Ivan who, in addition to being adept at cunnilingus – he had regularly serviced the maidens and matrons of Kiev – he was also a Ukrainian patriot. That would be the subtext. There would be two narrative levels. While triumphing over Ilsa’s labia – he would eventually remove her jack boots, the symbol of her domination of the inmates of the camp and by extension the countries under Nazi rule – Ivan would be simultaneously striking a blow for Ukrainian freedom from the Nazi yoke. But that ship had sailed. I was inducing boredom in the reader by dragging the issue out and inducing self-consciousness in myself, both lethal for effective erotica. Finally, at a second-order level, I began to reflect on my reflections on erotica (as I am now doing), an activity while no doubt philosophically interesting, is restricted by its nature to the purely rational and so conducive only to draining erotica of any residual impact it might have had.

So there’s the lesson for the successful writing of erotica. Keep it brief within the limits of a single posting, just like this comment.

A pleasure as always.

Cheerio!

RSVP

: T.T. Fonebone (10/05, 1:26PM)

I think you might be on to something. While I’m not sure if the reference was to “Ilsa, the She Wolf of the SS” – the name just popped into my head but it might have emerged from the deep structures of my visual memory – my reference to the inmate diving into the “The Tank” was in fact drawn from a film the name of which now escapes me. It was paired with another film – it was a double feature – called “Swept Away” in which a very snooty lady passenger on a liner became the abject slave of the waiter whom she had sneeringly disdained after the ship went down. They found themselves together on a small island. He debased her most satisfactorily in every conceivable manner. Yes, yes, in that manner as well. There was a lot of wonderful misogynistic sadism going on in 1974. However, the name “Jackie Collins” resonates, but only feebly. Could she have been the snooty lady?

A pleasure as always.

Cheerio!

RSVP

: Ivan Sonofabitch (10/06, 9:24AM)

Well, I wouldn’t say I was a “fan” of Lina Wertmuller still less of Ilse Koch but it looks like you’re right about the film “Seven Beauties.” A great film, particularly the “Tank” scene which I described with relish in my “Labia Wars (II)”. It gives new meaning to the phrase, “taking the plunge.”

It appears that Isle was into skin herself, not so much the labial variety but rather sheets of the tattooed stuff suitable for lamp shades. Of course, this is not to say that one cannot tattoo labia although it is unlikely even Ilse’s would be large enough for that. Maybe a small desk lamp but even that would be a stretch. (A little Montrealman humour there.)

I’ve only been to Dachau just outside Munich but that was enough. Apparently it was not an extermination camp but rather one dedicated to correcting heretical political and/or cultural views. However, judging by the wall-size photos depicting the brutal practices inflicted on the inmates, the abominable living/sleeping quarters as well as the large crematorium situated at the end of a pleasant tree-lined avenue, the distinction appears to be more verbal than actual.

It’s too bad this site doesn’t allow posting pictures. Among others I have one of a tourist brochure for the picturesque old town of Dachau as it attempts to extricate itself from its horrific public image. A variation of the old town-and-gown distinction, you might say.

A pleasure as always.

Cheerio!